Chapter 26 — Twenty-Sixth Punch
The bald man ahead carried the vegetables he had bought, walking at a leisurely pace. Shigemo Haruta followed closely behind, his mind turning over the events that had just occurred.
As Haruta had told Mayor Shōtarō Harada, the box he had sent to Saitama contained a genuine semi-grade two curse spirit—the Flying Head Barbarian. He had put a lot of effort into obtaining it, since that cursed spirit could overwhelm any curse user below grade two.
But judging from what he had just seen, Saitama didn't seem affected in the slightest.
"Is this guy just hiding his strength… or… did someone else handle it for him?" Haruta thought. "Either way, I should observe a bit longer."
Saitama walked along the street. Haruta followed, and after a while, Saitama suddenly stopped.
Haruta's expression changed, and he immediately slipped behind a utility pole.
What's going on? Did the bald guy notice me?
Haruta gripped the sword handle fashioned from a severed hand and waited a few seconds before peeking out.
Saitama was still standing in place. He stared at the sign of a nearby ramen shop for a long moment, then pushed open the door and went inside.
…Just to eat ramen, huh.
Haruta put his sword away and considered his next move. His gaze fell on a passing hip-hop youth wearing a knit cap and sunglasses perched on his nose.
A chilling smile spread across Haruta's face again. He began walking toward the hip-hop youth, blending in.
Three minutes later.
Now wearing a hat, sunglasses, and an oversized jacket, Haruta emerged from an alley and entered the ramen shop. He adjusted his hat and took a seat at a table where he could keep Saitama in view.
Saitama sat at a window seat, fully absorbed in the menu. Seeing this, Haruta casually picked up the menu on the table and chose a table from which he could surveil him.
"Excuse me," Saitama said, raising his head to speak to the ramen shop staff, "I'll have this one."
"Tonkotsu ramen, right?" The staff member, wearing a blue water-patterned headscarf, asked enthusiastically. "Which toppings would you like? We recommend chashu and mentaiko."
"Mentaiko…" Saitama unconsciously repeated, then began scanning the menu. "Uh… the price for mentaiko is…"
"Mentaiko is 500 yen," the staff member quickly replied.
"Is that so." Saitama kept his head down, looking at the menu, but his hand froze in place.
"Uh… then…" He scratched his head with his index finger. "…I'll take the cheapest topping—seaweed."
"Alright," the staff member said with a smile as he took note.
Silence stretched for several seconds.
"…Ah." Saitama noticed the staff member still standing by his side, so he looked up, a little puzzled.
"Um, have you decided on the other toppings?" The staff member asked patiently.
"No, just the seaweed," Saitama replied.
"Are you sure you don't want any other toppings?" The staff member blinked, quickly trying to persuade him. "Just seaweed is really too little."
"But don't you have free pickled ginger and green onions on each table?" Saitama asked, pointing to the condiment containers.
"…Alright, that'll be 450 yen in total. Thank you for coming."
The staff member walked away with a slightly exasperated expression. Soon, he returned with a bowl of bare soup noodles, topped with just two sheets of seaweed.
"Here's your ramen, please enjoy."
Watching Saitama add some free ginger and green onions before slurping the noodles, Haruta pondered quietly.
Fifteen minutes later, Saitama finished his meal and left the ramen shop with the vegetables he had bought.
Haruta followed again. As Saitama walked, he suddenly stopped once more.
—Could it be he really noticed me this time? Haruta pulled his knit cap down, peeking from under the brim.
Saitama hesitated briefly, then entered a convenience store.
Haruta followed again, standing at the automatic doors and ignoring the repeated opening and closing caused by his proximity. He watched carefully.
Saitama walked to the freezer, pulled out a cheap Garigari-kun popsicle, and stared at it for a long while. But after a moment, he put it back and walked out empty-handed.
Haruta immediately slipped around the corner.
Saitama emerged from the automatic doors, but as he turned, a gust of wind sent a newspaper fluttering across his face.
"Ahgu." The bald man made a slightly comical sound, brushing the newspaper off his face. He looked at it in his hands, his eyebrows forming a pitiful "八" shape.
"..."
Haruta silently watched Saitama for several seconds before a malicious grin spread across his face once more.
"Heh heh heh…"
He realized he no longer needed to observe. This bald man was clearly just an ordinary social loser: someone who couldn't afford extra toppings on ramen, didn't even want to buy the cheapest ice cream, and could be foiled by a stray newspaper.
The fact that he hadn't been killed by the semi-grade two Flying Head Barbarian curse must have been due to some coincidence—someone nearby must have dispelled it for him.
Seeing Saitama push open the gate and enter the Ghost City area, Haruta yanked off his knit cap, shrugged off his coat, and followed.
Might as well finish off this bald guy directly… but first, maybe a few small tricks…
In the silent Cursed City, Shigemo Haruta's steps were swift and silent. He was getting closer and closer to Saitama ahead.
In the blink of an eye, Haruta suddenly removed his sunglasses and casually tossed them forward.
"Click." The glasses spun and landed near the back of Saitama's feet.
"Huh?" Saitama paused at the sound, glancing back.
"Sorry, sorry. Dropped something by accident."
Haruta smiled as he walked up. "Could you help me pick up my sunglasses?"
"Sure, I can do that."
Saitama bent down without a second thought, reaching for the sunglasses at his feet.
—As expected, such a clueless weakling! Bending over like that in front of him, exposing that fragile bald head right in the enemy's line of sight!
A murderous glint flashed in Haruta's eyes. He dropped all pretense, his face twisting into a feral grin. He drew his sword, licked his lips, and swung it toward Saitama's gleaming bald head—a strike worthy of a demon!
Shigemo Haruta loved nothing more than bullying the weak!
Clang!
In that instant, time seemed to slow down. The sword gleamed white as it struck Saitama's head—and at the moment of contact, snap!—it shattered into two pieces.
Bright shards flew in all directions, the reflected light dancing in Haruta's pupils. Through the splintered blade, he saw his own reflection—twisted in shock and disbelief.
"..."
What… what just happened? Why did my sword break?
Clatter. The shards bounced and scattered across the ground. Haruta stared at the broken half of his sword in disbelief. Then, he noticed Saitama, who had been bent over, straightening up, eyes fixed directly on him.
"Hey, you…" Saitama's expression turned serious as he looked Shigemo Haruta in the eyes. "You were trying to attack me just now, right?"
A jolt of fear ran like electricity down Haruta's spine, freezing his body in place for a moment.
"N-no… no!" he stammered.
"Huh? Then what's with that sword?" Saitama's gaze slowly shifted to the sword still clutched in Haruta's hand.
"Ah… that… um…" Haruta instinctively hid the sword behind his back. "It was just… slippery hands."
"..."
Saitama stared silently. The suffocating silence stretched on for several long seconds.
"Is that so," Saitama finally said. "Then don't let your hands slip next time, okay?"
"Y-yes…"
Haruta nodded rapidly, like a pecking chicken. Seeing this, Saitama, though slightly displeased, picked up his vegetable bag and turned to leave.
…Just like that?
Haruta stood dumbfounded, watching Saitama's retreating figure. He slowly lowered his head, gripping the broken sword in his hand, applying slight pressure.
The blade didn't move an inch.
Two-thirds of the sword remained—and this portion had already been tested: strong and sharp.
This was a sword that had killed countless ordinary people, even some curse users.
Haruta held the broken sword, staring at Saitama's bald back, sweat soaking through his clothes.
What should I do? Try again?
Maybe what just happened was a fluke. No matter how you look at it, Saitama was just a normal bald guy.
And killing him… would earn thirty million yen!
Haruta wiped the sweat from his brow and laughed, gripping the sword. "Ha… ha ha… hahaha…"
He released his grip—and the sword, with its human-hand handle, didn't fall. Instead, it floated in the air, adjusting its angle, the blade slowly pointing toward Saitama.
In the blink of an eye, a streak of white sliced through the air. The blade shot toward Saitama's head!
Closing in, getting closer… yet Saitama remained completely unaware, his back turned. At first, Haruta felt a thrill of tension, but he soon relaxed, grinning viciously.
"Die, bald head," he silently mouthed.
Just as the blade was about a centimeter from Saitama's head, Haruta's vision suddenly blurred.
Saitama turned with impossible speed, his hand a blur of flesh, appearing before the blade in an instant.
When the motion faded, Haruta finally saw clearly.
His broken sword was clamped firmly between Saitama's raised right-hand index and middle fingers.
Thump thump.
Haruta's heart pounded violently with fear.
"What's with this sword? Flying around all over the place—very dangerous." Saitama said, still holding the blade between his fingers. With a slight press, the remaining large portion of the sword crack! shattered into tiny fragments.
The bald hand-sword handle thud hit the ground. At the same time, Saitama suddenly turned to face Haruta, his face darkening.
"So you were trying to ambush me after all."
Haruta's eyes went wide; he felt as if he could barely breathe.
Thump thump.
Saitama lowered his hand and stepped toward Haruta boldly, the bald head looming larger as his simple, sketch-like face twisted into a look of unmistakable displeasure.
"So, that 'slippery hands' excuse you just gave… that was a lie, wasn't it?"
Thump thump! Thump thump! Thump thump! Thump thump!
Shigemo Haruta's heart pounded violently. He turned, ready to run, but his legs refused to obey. He could only watch helplessly as Saitama approached him.
Thud!
…
Saitama walked farther and farther away with his bag of vegetables, leaving behind the large pit in the ground shaped like Shigemo Haruta.
"Seriously, even little punks are coming at me with toy swords now… when will it end?" he muttered under his breath as he walked. "Could it be that they're targeting me just because my head is too shiny?"
Under the sunlight, a faint glimmer sparkled atop Saitama's head.
---
The next day, Fukuoka City Mayor's Office.
The door suddenly swung open. Haruta entered, his face dark.
"What are you doing here? Hasn't that bald guy already been taken care of?"
Haruta ignored him completely, wordlessly walking straight to the sofa and sitting down.
"Hey, what do you mean by this?"
Seeing Haruta's attitude, Mayor Harada Shōtarō's temper flared—but then he noticed something was off.
Since entering, Haruta had kept one hand pressed against his stomach. His normally bright, six distinct lines under his eyelids had all gone hollow, like used-up batteries.
Harada Shōtarō, staring at Haruta, suddenly felt a chill in his abdomen. Looking down, he saw irregular fragments of sword slowly piercing through his stomach, stained with bright red blood.
"You…"
Harada Shōtarō stared in disbelief at Haruta sitting calmly on the sofa. Before he could speak, the fragments spun upward, slicing through his throat.
Hearing him collapse, Haruta pressed his hand to his abdomen, face pale, and stood up. He strode to the mayor's desk, ignoring the body, rifling through the drawers.
The sounds of drawers opening and closing rang out. Finally, Haruta found the mayor's checkbook and seal, stuffing them into his chest.
"To make me take on such a dangerous task, and just like that… all the luck I've saved for months is gone." He glanced back at the corpse and gave it a vicious kick. "Old man."
---
Ding dong—
"Huh?"
Saitama, half-lying on the floor reading manga, moved it aside and glanced toward the door.
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong—
"Coming."
Saitama put down his manga and walked to the door. Click. He opened it.
At the door was a delivery drone. The small drone persistently pressed the doorbell with its wings, two boxes hanging from its claws.
Once Saitama opened the door, the drone set the boxes down and flew away, spinning its rotors.
Saitama stared at the boxes, silent for a moment, sweat forming on his bald head.
Could it be… again…?
"Sensei! What happened?"
The sudden voice of Genos startled Saitama. He turned to see Genos, who had been cleaning the bathroom, had already taken off his apron and washed his hands.
"Oh," Saitama said, pointing at the boxes, "someone sent something again."
Genos bent to inspect the shipping labels. "Sensei, these are the items I bought." He picked up both boxes and carried them inside, explaining as he walked.
"Huh?" Saitama blinked.
"Since you mentioned last time that you wanted to try authentic mentaiko from Fukuoka, I contacted local fishermen over the past two days. They went out to catch the best fish and made the finest mentaiko just for me. —Of course, to get it to you faster, I had it air-shipped."
Genos opened one box, revealing red mentaiko carefully refrigerated, filling the entire box.
"Oh—" Saitama's eyes lit up at the sight. "Air shipping must have cost a lot."
"That's nothing," Genos replied.
He opened the other box, revealing assorted ice cream bars and frozen treats. "Also, considering how hot it's been lately, I thought ice cream would be perfect."
"Ah, they even have soda-flavored Garigari-kun!" Saitama quickly leaned over the box and picked up an ice pop, the same kind he had seen in the convenience store.
"Sensei, just enjoy whatever you like," Genos said earnestly.
"Hmm…"
Saitama looked toward the small freezer in his apartment, rubbing the back of his head, muttering to himself. "Too bad the fridge isn't big enough to hold all the mentaiko and ice cream. Whatever doesn't fit… I'll just have to finish today."
"Luckily, we still have eggs and green onions from last time, plus the usual instant ramen and dried seaweed. Lunch will be mentaiko ramen, dinner will be mentaiko rice bowl, and ice cream for dessert."
Saitama turned to Genos with a bright smile.
"Let's work together to finish all of this, Genos."
"Yes, Sensei!"